This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. And then all her restlessness was turned to joy. "Put your arms about me. You will survive, mark my words. She spoke slowly. ” She was altogether hysterical now. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. . His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. Pistols and pictures? Now it fair goes agin’ me nature to act rough with a lady, but you’ll come along of me at once. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion.
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